Ch.1: Flower
He watched with a hint of regret as the little girl ran up and down the park path.
He knew it was strange to have a sudden contemplating mood like he was in now, but as he
watched, it reminded him of his now-awake sister, living with their aunt, their mother's
sister. She would be all right, even if he wasn't there to watch over her like he liked to.
He sent little things to her once in a while: the occasional envelope of just enough
pocket money to buy a nice book he saw her fawning over, a pen when she lost her favorite
one, a CD he saw her admiring, little things that didn't cost much, just to show that
someone was watching over her. He was sure she knew it was already, but respected his
distance. He didn't send things often, maybe just one every 2 months or so, but it was
enough to let her know that he still existed, and that he still had an eye out for his
mischievous little sister. It was enough. After all, he could do no more.
"Mista, mista", the little child tugged impatiently at his sleeve. He looked down,
and his hardened features softened into a slight smile. He knelt down to look into the
cutely squinted eyes, and smiled when the little child boldly looked back, the face tilted
up in an adorable smile. "Mista redhead, d'ya wanna a fwower?" The chubby hand held a
tightly clenched flower in its grasp, the little yellow petals reminding him of someone's
hair. For a split second his face frowned, then he smiled faintly and looked into the
little toddler's eyes.
"What do you think, little girl?"
"Ya! Y'wanna a widdle fwower, doncha?"
He took the flower from her gently (though it had already half-wilted in her hand),
and patted her on the head before he stood up. The little girl just hopped up and down,
making her jumper flounce, but he had a feeling that she didn't care. "Mista redhead, if'n
you's a wanna anoder fwower, I can getcha one, y'kno?"
He smiled again, looking at the flower. He pressed his nose to his slightly, and
almost grimaced when no good came out of it. "Thank you for the flower, little girl", he
said back to her. "I'll most certainly call you if I want another flower." He held out his
hand to her, and chuckled when she looked from it to his face, from his face back to the
outstretched hand. After a few seconds he chuckled again, and reached out to ruffle her
hair. He hadn't smiled for a long time, but only something little, like the girl, could
make him smile. "Shake my hand, little girl."
She did so, and wobbled his arm up and down in a wave shape. As she smiled broadly
back at him, the smile on his face widened, and he shook it one last time with resolve and
straightened to his full height. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, little girl."
"Thank ya, mista redhead!"
A smile, flash of a dress, and she was gone. In place of the little shoes that
stood at his feet a mere few moments now showed sophisticated red high heels. He didn't
have to look up to know who it was. Who else would wear red high heels and stand with her
hands on her hips as if she wanted something?
"Manx."
"Come with me."
He followed, every step heavy and plodding along the way. He did not want to do
this, he did not want to be so isolated, but the damage was done now. There was no turning
point. This was the point of no return, and he had done it by his own choice, albeit
reluctantly. They arrived at the parking lot, and there Manx showed him to an older man who
reminded Ran of a very tall version of Omi, with a different haircut and smaller eyes. But
it was uncanny how it seemed, but even though he struggled not to comment on the
similarities, his questions were soon answered by a few curt words from an extremely deep
voice that did not match the outlook of this person.
"Aya Fujimiya, also known as Abyssinian, I presume?"
"Yes."
"I am Tsukiyono Kotaro, also known as Hotaru. I am Omi's cousin."
He had nothing to say to the back turned to him, but his mind whirled with
unanswered questions and exclamations that he dared not say out of respect. This person was
obviously very important to Kritiker and to the mission, so he did now say anything. It
was certainly not his place to say anything; that was the mask he donned. He was silent,
speechless, and ignored everything that came along. That description did not fit him now,
since he had softened considerably since he had joined Wei?, but he was still aloof and
apart from the others, no matter how hard they tried to include him in their little group.
He was still the solitary loner to the most of them.
"Are you not surprised?"
"No. You look like Omi."
The man chuckled. "My little cousin Mamoru is alright?"
At the name, Aya snarled and the next thing he knew, he had the man pinned to the
ground, fist raised above his head like a snake ready to strike. Manx was instantly alert,
and started to walk towards them, but the sight of Aya in a rage made her hesitate. He had
the man who called Omi by his original name to the ground, and he was about to strike, but
this person had called Omi something else, something that the youngest himself had denied.
At this thought, the snarl came back, as well as the animalistic, wild, untamed look in his
eyes as he spoke through gritted teeth.
"What did you say?"
The man said nothing, but Aya could see that the man was trying to think fast. They
stayed that way for a few tense moments, then he levered himself up, still wary. The
instant the man was up on his feet, cold steel of a blade raised goosebumps raised on
Kotaro's neck. He hissed slightly through his teeth, but didn't move. This person had him
pinned. He didn't like being caught like this; it wasn't like him. But he was unaware of
what a ruckus the name had made, and what it meant and signified. "Why", he spoke calmly,
trying to hold the boiling panic underneath, "does the name 'Mamoru' anger you?"
Aya growled and seethed visibly. Kotaro stiffened. Manx blanched.
"Ask Manx."
Kotaro shifted his attention to the redheaded woman, and asked stiffly, "Why?"
"Tsukiyono Omi is not Mamoru. He is Omi. Not Mamoru. Never mention that name in
front of any of us. Omi hates it, and has put the whole past behind him. He chooses not to
remember, and neither do any of the other team members either. They want him to be happy,
not to remember painful things. In other words, he denied his original name 'Mamoru'. Do
not say it again."
The sword was lifted, and Kotaro relaxed. He noticed, however, Aya did not sheath
his sword, just kept it held loosely in his hand. It was obvious that the redhead was still
wary, that the redhead was still angry at him. He had to do something to ease the Aya's
temper. On a sudden ruse, he lunged for the hilt of the sword, to grab it-
-only to be met by rapidly rising ground as his fingers clutched air. The next
thing he knew, he hit the ground, suffocating dust clogging his throat as a boot clamped on
the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, and waited for the end. But after a moment, the
boot lifted, and he was able to turn around and breath. He saw that Manx was beside him,
looking very unconcerned for either of them, and Aya looking impassively down at him with a
blank expression on his face. He choked and gagged on the dust for a moment, then stood up
and dusted off his clothes. All this time, a semi-tense silence stretched between all 3 of
them. Kotaro looked from one to the other, then said almost softly.
"I didn't mean any harm."
Aya turned, and regarded him with cautious eyes. "That's why I let you go. You're
not a threat. You're too slow. Work on agility."
Manx coughed, and got both men's attentions. "Is there any more you would like to
say, Kotaro?"
"No."
"Then go, Hotaru."
The older man turned to go, but after a few steps, he stopped, his back still
towards the 2 behind him. Words were whispered through his lips, hesitantly, haltingly, but
Aya heard every word as loud as if it were screaming right in his ear.
"Is he alright?"
For a moment, no one spoke. Aya knew the question was meant for him. A slight
glance to his left told him that Manx would not answer his question.
"He's fine. He's happy."
The steps walked away from him, and Aya left for his apartment, Manx left for
wherever she went. The meeting was over. Words had been exchanged, scuffles broken out and
resolved, but the memory of it still lingered in his mind. This person, this Tsukiyono
Kotaro, was not what he seemed. He had a codename, 'Hotaru'. Was he an assassin as well?
Was he one of them? Was he another permanent resident in the Underworld? Was he someone he
could relate to, compare to, and not feel abashed to do? Was anyone good enough for that?
Was this person just as lonely as he was?
Was this person so desperate that he would ask someone like him to help? He never
needed help himself, so it was an unfamiliar gesture. This man who claimed to be Omi's
cousin...could he trust him? He would have to see if Omi trusted this person first, or if
anyone. He would not do anything before that for this person. It was for the best. This
person seemed trustworthy, not capable of sorrow, not having gone through it previously, but
everyone had their masks. They just had to be disposed of, but no one could completely
unhide himself. There was a saying that people could 'bare their souls completely', but it
was a lie, as he found. Could this person be infidently more cheerful than Omi? It was
just a mask, but perhaps Omi really believed in it.
Omi's mask was flawless, except for dire times that called for tears and comfort.
Those were expected in an occupation like theirs, but he knew himself that his mask was not
flawless, not after Youji had peeked under it and broken the string binding it to his head.
Now, he would smile faintly at almost everything he saw, and he could never keep the smile
at bay for as long as he had when he first joined WeiB. It was uncanny how his team
members penetrated his mask that had been so flawless just before. But they were just
masks, just the outlook. They weren't really happy in truth. They were always crying.
Smiling through a thousand tears, as he had heard it once. But could there really be people
that were truly happy?
He was getting off the subject.
Who did this Tsukiyono Kotaro think he was anyways?
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
My chapters are getting shorter and shorter...well, that's alright. I was going to
put the next chapter and this chapter together, but I decided against it. Just a note:
hotaru means "firefly" in Japanese.
Andrea Weiling
He watched with a hint of regret as the little girl ran up and down the park path.
He knew it was strange to have a sudden contemplating mood like he was in now, but as he
watched, it reminded him of his now-awake sister, living with their aunt, their mother's
sister. She would be all right, even if he wasn't there to watch over her like he liked to.
He sent little things to her once in a while: the occasional envelope of just enough
pocket money to buy a nice book he saw her fawning over, a pen when she lost her favorite
one, a CD he saw her admiring, little things that didn't cost much, just to show that
someone was watching over her. He was sure she knew it was already, but respected his
distance. He didn't send things often, maybe just one every 2 months or so, but it was
enough to let her know that he still existed, and that he still had an eye out for his
mischievous little sister. It was enough. After all, he could do no more.
"Mista, mista", the little child tugged impatiently at his sleeve. He looked down,
and his hardened features softened into a slight smile. He knelt down to look into the
cutely squinted eyes, and smiled when the little child boldly looked back, the face tilted
up in an adorable smile. "Mista redhead, d'ya wanna a fwower?" The chubby hand held a
tightly clenched flower in its grasp, the little yellow petals reminding him of someone's
hair. For a split second his face frowned, then he smiled faintly and looked into the
little toddler's eyes.
"What do you think, little girl?"
"Ya! Y'wanna a widdle fwower, doncha?"
He took the flower from her gently (though it had already half-wilted in her hand),
and patted her on the head before he stood up. The little girl just hopped up and down,
making her jumper flounce, but he had a feeling that she didn't care. "Mista redhead, if'n
you's a wanna anoder fwower, I can getcha one, y'kno?"
He smiled again, looking at the flower. He pressed his nose to his slightly, and
almost grimaced when no good came out of it. "Thank you for the flower, little girl", he
said back to her. "I'll most certainly call you if I want another flower." He held out his
hand to her, and chuckled when she looked from it to his face, from his face back to the
outstretched hand. After a few seconds he chuckled again, and reached out to ruffle her
hair. He hadn't smiled for a long time, but only something little, like the girl, could
make him smile. "Shake my hand, little girl."
She did so, and wobbled his arm up and down in a wave shape. As she smiled broadly
back at him, the smile on his face widened, and he shook it one last time with resolve and
straightened to his full height. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, little girl."
"Thank ya, mista redhead!"
A smile, flash of a dress, and she was gone. In place of the little shoes that
stood at his feet a mere few moments now showed sophisticated red high heels. He didn't
have to look up to know who it was. Who else would wear red high heels and stand with her
hands on her hips as if she wanted something?
"Manx."
"Come with me."
He followed, every step heavy and plodding along the way. He did not want to do
this, he did not want to be so isolated, but the damage was done now. There was no turning
point. This was the point of no return, and he had done it by his own choice, albeit
reluctantly. They arrived at the parking lot, and there Manx showed him to an older man who
reminded Ran of a very tall version of Omi, with a different haircut and smaller eyes. But
it was uncanny how it seemed, but even though he struggled not to comment on the
similarities, his questions were soon answered by a few curt words from an extremely deep
voice that did not match the outlook of this person.
"Aya Fujimiya, also known as Abyssinian, I presume?"
"Yes."
"I am Tsukiyono Kotaro, also known as Hotaru. I am Omi's cousin."
He had nothing to say to the back turned to him, but his mind whirled with
unanswered questions and exclamations that he dared not say out of respect. This person was
obviously very important to Kritiker and to the mission, so he did now say anything. It
was certainly not his place to say anything; that was the mask he donned. He was silent,
speechless, and ignored everything that came along. That description did not fit him now,
since he had softened considerably since he had joined Wei?, but he was still aloof and
apart from the others, no matter how hard they tried to include him in their little group.
He was still the solitary loner to the most of them.
"Are you not surprised?"
"No. You look like Omi."
The man chuckled. "My little cousin Mamoru is alright?"
At the name, Aya snarled and the next thing he knew, he had the man pinned to the
ground, fist raised above his head like a snake ready to strike. Manx was instantly alert,
and started to walk towards them, but the sight of Aya in a rage made her hesitate. He had
the man who called Omi by his original name to the ground, and he was about to strike, but
this person had called Omi something else, something that the youngest himself had denied.
At this thought, the snarl came back, as well as the animalistic, wild, untamed look in his
eyes as he spoke through gritted teeth.
"What did you say?"
The man said nothing, but Aya could see that the man was trying to think fast. They
stayed that way for a few tense moments, then he levered himself up, still wary. The
instant the man was up on his feet, cold steel of a blade raised goosebumps raised on
Kotaro's neck. He hissed slightly through his teeth, but didn't move. This person had him
pinned. He didn't like being caught like this; it wasn't like him. But he was unaware of
what a ruckus the name had made, and what it meant and signified. "Why", he spoke calmly,
trying to hold the boiling panic underneath, "does the name 'Mamoru' anger you?"
Aya growled and seethed visibly. Kotaro stiffened. Manx blanched.
"Ask Manx."
Kotaro shifted his attention to the redheaded woman, and asked stiffly, "Why?"
"Tsukiyono Omi is not Mamoru. He is Omi. Not Mamoru. Never mention that name in
front of any of us. Omi hates it, and has put the whole past behind him. He chooses not to
remember, and neither do any of the other team members either. They want him to be happy,
not to remember painful things. In other words, he denied his original name 'Mamoru'. Do
not say it again."
The sword was lifted, and Kotaro relaxed. He noticed, however, Aya did not sheath
his sword, just kept it held loosely in his hand. It was obvious that the redhead was still
wary, that the redhead was still angry at him. He had to do something to ease the Aya's
temper. On a sudden ruse, he lunged for the hilt of the sword, to grab it-
-only to be met by rapidly rising ground as his fingers clutched air. The next
thing he knew, he hit the ground, suffocating dust clogging his throat as a boot clamped on
the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, and waited for the end. But after a moment, the
boot lifted, and he was able to turn around and breath. He saw that Manx was beside him,
looking very unconcerned for either of them, and Aya looking impassively down at him with a
blank expression on his face. He choked and gagged on the dust for a moment, then stood up
and dusted off his clothes. All this time, a semi-tense silence stretched between all 3 of
them. Kotaro looked from one to the other, then said almost softly.
"I didn't mean any harm."
Aya turned, and regarded him with cautious eyes. "That's why I let you go. You're
not a threat. You're too slow. Work on agility."
Manx coughed, and got both men's attentions. "Is there any more you would like to
say, Kotaro?"
"No."
"Then go, Hotaru."
The older man turned to go, but after a few steps, he stopped, his back still
towards the 2 behind him. Words were whispered through his lips, hesitantly, haltingly, but
Aya heard every word as loud as if it were screaming right in his ear.
"Is he alright?"
For a moment, no one spoke. Aya knew the question was meant for him. A slight
glance to his left told him that Manx would not answer his question.
"He's fine. He's happy."
The steps walked away from him, and Aya left for his apartment, Manx left for
wherever she went. The meeting was over. Words had been exchanged, scuffles broken out and
resolved, but the memory of it still lingered in his mind. This person, this Tsukiyono
Kotaro, was not what he seemed. He had a codename, 'Hotaru'. Was he an assassin as well?
Was he one of them? Was he another permanent resident in the Underworld? Was he someone he
could relate to, compare to, and not feel abashed to do? Was anyone good enough for that?
Was this person just as lonely as he was?
Was this person so desperate that he would ask someone like him to help? He never
needed help himself, so it was an unfamiliar gesture. This man who claimed to be Omi's
cousin...could he trust him? He would have to see if Omi trusted this person first, or if
anyone. He would not do anything before that for this person. It was for the best. This
person seemed trustworthy, not capable of sorrow, not having gone through it previously, but
everyone had their masks. They just had to be disposed of, but no one could completely
unhide himself. There was a saying that people could 'bare their souls completely', but it
was a lie, as he found. Could this person be infidently more cheerful than Omi? It was
just a mask, but perhaps Omi really believed in it.
Omi's mask was flawless, except for dire times that called for tears and comfort.
Those were expected in an occupation like theirs, but he knew himself that his mask was not
flawless, not after Youji had peeked under it and broken the string binding it to his head.
Now, he would smile faintly at almost everything he saw, and he could never keep the smile
at bay for as long as he had when he first joined WeiB. It was uncanny how his team
members penetrated his mask that had been so flawless just before. But they were just
masks, just the outlook. They weren't really happy in truth. They were always crying.
Smiling through a thousand tears, as he had heard it once. But could there really be people
that were truly happy?
He was getting off the subject.
Who did this Tsukiyono Kotaro think he was anyways?
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
My chapters are getting shorter and shorter...well, that's alright. I was going to
put the next chapter and this chapter together, but I decided against it. Just a note:
hotaru means "firefly" in Japanese.
Andrea Weiling